Rain
by Woodswolf
Summary: The rain didn't care. The rain wasn't aware. The rain was too busy turning everything into a muddy, wet, miserable place, one that mourned and celebrated for the same reason. The rain continued to fall, and when the sun finally broke through the clouds, all was done.


_(A/N): I was looking through my favorites list and was randomly inspired._

_You see, I just happened to look at Rain, a Coraline story by Kisses (dot) for (dot) Basil (sorry, but I know won't let me spell her penname right)._

_The mood of that story is happy, so I was randomly inspired to have a story by the same title that has the opposite emotion as its mascot._

_Experiments are fun._

* * *

RAIN

A heavy rain was falling outside the window, outside the house, outside the world.

It was, of course, an illusion. Everything was. What wasn't an illusion _here_, in the place of twisted dreams, brutal nightmares, and lost hopes?

This rain was rain of celebration, or, more properly, was rain that _fell_ on a celebration; the happiness, the party, was held outside in the rain, the rain that symbolized misery, as a monster begain to gain power, and as a child began to die.

But far away from that rain, in another place, another world, it was also raining.

This world was in mourning for the lost, the ones that never returned. Those who were there wondered. Where would a _child_ have gone?

They could have run away; they could have been murdered and hauled away; they could have gotten lost in the woods; they could have fallen or jumped in the deep well to try to see the stars from the bottom.

Nothing was hopeful with this rain; there was no happiness, no joy. One had died, and death is _never_ a happy occasion.

Far away from that rain, in an _entirely_ different place, one that you have not yet seen, it was also raining.

The rain was made of tears, tears that were dried so tenderly by the ghosts and the air, the _hollow_ air, the _dead_ air, the air that had not moved in a century or _more_, air that was now moving in and out of the child's lungs.

The child cried over a game lost and a comfort forgotten. It sacrificed itself to the celebrating monster in exchange for all others to go free in a last-minute deal.

The monster only held part of the deal, and let two leave to have their misery.

The two that were able to leave were now living in the rain that covered the second place, that covered the funeral, that pounded on the lid of the empty coffin, that pounded on all the black umbrellas that all the people dressed in the darkest black held above their heads, that splashed on the dirt to turn it dark and soggy and miserable. They all mourned over the loss of someone who was not yet dead, only captured and held apart and becoming friends with the darkness as the seconds passed.

The seconds became hours, the hours became days, the days became weeks. The child, locked away from the world, forgotten in the darkness of the place it inhabited, was comforted only by the rags that covered the floor, the rotten, rusting bed in the corner of the dark, damp, sad room, and the others like it, the other ghosts, the ones that had died long ago and were already fading away.

The child did not have enough energy to stand up, did not have the energy to sit up; it lay on the floor, its life and existence, the simple fact that it was breathing, an act of defiance against itself, the world, and the rain in the first place.

The monster laughed in that first rain, ran in that rain, felt the power flow into its veins as it slowly killed the child, the one it had captured, all in that rain. It drank the rain that fell in the third place, drank it until it was full, and then ran and celebrated again, waiting for a new child to come.

The second place lay abandoned, yet the rain still fell; the graveyard was soaked and soggy, wet and worn; the gravestones around the newest one seemed thousands of years old if you looked at their erosion.

The newest was a simple stone; it was nothing fancy at all, if you looked at it. It read a name, and a date, and nothing more. There was no second date on the stone; there was no body in the coffin. If you don't know if one has died, what can you put for the date of death?

The family of the lost child returned to their home, and the rain fell around them, coating them with wet; it reminded them that they were still alive, that they were _alive_, while their child, the one they had cared for, the one they had lived for, was _lost_, _gone_, _dead_, _never to return_.

The child, lying on the floor of the third place, the dark, damp, dusty, ancient room, barely moved.

Its heartbeat was the only thing that testified it was still alive.

Slowly, barely, simply, that heartbeat and the breathing slowed down, down, down. The heartbeat slowed, slowed, _. . ._

And eventually, it stopped, and the defiance of the child, the defiance of the deceased form, concluded with nothing but a simple sigh, a last breath of air.

A tear fell, the last drop of the rain.

The rain didn't care. The rain wasn't aware. The rain was too busy turning everything into a muddy, wet, miserable place, one that mourned and celebrated for the same reason.

The rain continued to fall, and when the sun finally broke through the clouds, all was done.

* * *

_(A/N): Technically, if you look at this, I didn't kill Coraline._

_I could have just killed any of the ghost children, but fancy it to be whoever you desire._

_Now I will end with the lyrics to "Gollum's Song" from The Lord of the Rings movie, The Two Towers:_

* * *

_Where once was light, now darkness falls._

_Where once was love, love is no more._

_Don't say goodbye._

_Don't say I didn't try._

_These tears we cry are falling rain,_

_For all the lies you told us, the hurt, the blame._

_And we will weep to be so alone._

_We are lost. We can never go home._

_So in the end I'll be what I will be._

_No loyal friend was ever there for me._

_Now we say goodbye._

_We say you didn't try._

_These tears you cry have come too late._

_Take back the lies, the hurt, the blame._

_And you will weep when you face the end alone._

_You are lost. You can never go home._

_You are lost. You can never go home._


End file.
